


Points

by Patronoftheravens



Series: Of Wolves and Lilies: A Collection of Roche/Geralt Drabbles [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fan theory, M/M, Self indulgent fight scenes, half elf vernon, it was a cool theory, more in the notes and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patronoftheravens/pseuds/Patronoftheravens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vernon is half elf. Geralt finds out. Also self-indulgent fight scene writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Points

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a theory that Vernon always wears the chaperon to hide his ears (which are elf ears) because of the irony that would occur.

It had been a bit since Geralt had last seen Vernon Roche. A bit as in three months spent in Toussaint trekking through through vineyards after the Beast of Beauclair. It had been nice to get away from the dreary war torn landscapes of the Northern Realms. He was back though. Back in the wilds hunting down ghouls and drowners and wraiths. It was good, simple work. Much better than getting involved in court intrigue and the affairs of higher vampires. He’d recently taken a contract from a concerned Blue Stripes commando on behalf of his beloved commander himself. Word from the soldier, whose name was Tharren, was that there was a patrol that had gone missing save for one man who had come back bloody and babbling about some horror in the woods. A run of the mill case in a witcher’s line of work. Geralt was currently approaching where Tharren said the patrol had gone missing. A sharp tug on the reins brought Roach to a halt and he carefully dismounted. The area was covered in thick deciduous forest, leaves reaching up to block out the sun. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of dirt, animals, and plants. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. He scanned the canopy first, searching for snapped branches or scraps of fur or feathers. Nothing. His eyes went to the midsection of the trees. No claw marks, no teeth marks, no blood splatter, nothing there either. Then to the floor. No tracks, no blood, wait. Geralt stooped down a few feet from where he left Roach. There was an arrow stuck into the ground.One of the soldiers’. He gripped it by the base and yanked it from its resting place and examined the head. Dirt, naturally, but no blood. He inhaled, sucking in the smell of earth and the musky scent of oil used on the bowstring. It was faint, not enough to track. Then, he remembered how he’d found the arrow, the feathers pointing into the woods. He extended his senses, nothing unusual. Roach quietly grazed on some low growing shrubs. The forest seemed to yawn before him, opening its great shadowed maw with its wooden, crooked teeth. Standing, he took his step into the forest’s mouth.   
It took Geralt thirty-seven steps before he found the first body. Dressed in Temerian blue and shoddy, second rate armor. The guerilla’s standard. His guts were torn out, chest ripped open, blood staining the ground a deep red. He knelt down next to the body and examined the wounds. They were clean, straight, as if made by a razor. Cause of death was blood loss from the claw that had severed the aorta. The wounds were made by long claws and the soldier hadn’t been expecting it noted by the expression of shock frozen on his face.   
“A vampire?” He muttered to himself, “No, blood hasn’t been drained. Not a necrophage, body isn’t chewed.” He stood, “The others can’t be too far away.”   
Sure enough, a few feet from the first was two more with the same injuries as the first; long razor sharp claws ripping into chests, torsos, and limbs. One body’s head lay a few feet away, a clean slice through the vertebrae. This only reinforced that it was neither vampire nor necrophage. Then he listened to the sounds around him, or rather the lack thereof. There was nothing, dead silence. An unearthly hush had settled over the forest. Something was watching him. Something very old, very powerful. He got his answer to what it was when he plunged just a little further. There was the fourth member of the patrol, gnarled limbs of a tree piercing and snaring him. The injuries were gruesome, but vital. This ancient thing that watched him was a Leshen. He immediately sought a place to oil his blade. There was a small clearing around fifty paces west of the final body. The grass was dry and crunched underneath his knees when he knelt, rustling when the cork from his relict oil fell onto the ground. Dipping a cloth into the oil, he ran it down his silver blade, greasing every ridge and fuller. When his blade was oiled, he stood and set off to find the totems. The cawing of crows led him to one of them, incinerated by Igni, then another met the same fate. The forest was silent now, save for one thing. A creaking, groaning whisper laced with the croaking of crows. The eerie mixture brought all of Geralt’s heightened senses on edge. It was coming from a dense part of the forest thick with thorns and shrubbery. Suddenly, a flock of crows erupted from the foliage. Geralt cast Quen to avoid sharp beaks and claws from tearing at him and the crows bounced off his shield. Then, the flood of feathers and frantically flapping wings abated. The Leshen emerged from the foliage. A towering beast, standing at least five feet above Geralt. It’s antlers were massive, sprouting from the deer skull that served as its head like massive gnarled towers. Lichens and mosses and vines draped off of them down to its woody carved shoulders. Geralt’s heart began to race, his eyes narrowed, breaths deepening. He drew his silver sword, the runes casting an eerie glow on the shrubbery. He stared at the Leshen and the Leshen stared back with its dead empty eye sockets. They stood like that for a mere few heartbeats before they both lunged at each other.  
The Temerian Guerillas’ hideout wasn’t anything special, an open spot in a cave branching off into smaller caverns. It wasn’t a classy inn by any stretch but it was better than camping out in the open wilderness.Vernon had taken up residence in a little niche off to the left of the entrance of the caves. It wasn’t much, a bed, a fireplace, a desk and chair plus writing instruments, and a rather ornate divider that would only be pulled over the entrance when Vernon wanted some privacy. At present, the divider was up and Silas was stationed in front of it.  
“Witcher.” He greeted.  
“Hey Silas. Gotta see your commander.”  
“What’s your business with him?”  
“Here for the contract’s reward that I heard about from Tharren.”  
Silas shrugged, “Commander said no visitors.”  
Then a voice from beyond the divider. “Let him in Silas, he’s an exception.”  
He stepped aside and moved the divider so Geralt could pass. As he stepped into the cavern that Vernon called home, he saw the commander fumble for the chaperon near his desk. He was out of his uniform in a simple shirt and trousers and now the chaperon.   
“Heard you were here for the reward.” He stated, scratching out a letter to whom Geralt assumed was either Radovid or Dijkstra.  
In response, Geralt held up the Leshen antler he’d hacked from its head. Vernon turned to see it and as he did, Geralt caught a glimpse of thick brown hair. Vernon nodded in approval and tossed him a coin pouch.   
“That should be the agreed amount.”  
“I’ve got a question Roche.” Geralt began, pocketing the money.  
“Ask away.”  
“Why don’t you ever take off the hat in company?”  
Vernon sighed, drummed his fingers on his desk and locked eyes with Geralt- doe brown meeting liquid gold.   
“Well, we’ve already confessed our love for each other, guess you should know what’s under the hat.” His fingers went to the top of the chaperon. Geralt felt his breath catch. He was oddly intrigued, like a child awaiting a wrapped gift. It was a bit immature, but he couldn’t help himself. The hat came off and a small bun of ash brown hair bobbed against the back of his neck. However, that wasn’t what drew Geralt’s attention. It was Vernon’s ears. They weren’t round like most ears, they were pointed like an elves but less pronounced.   
“Go ahead, say it.” He sighed.  
“Say what? Remark upon the irony that Vernon Roche, hunter of Scoia’Tael is an elf?”  
“Half elf,” he snarled, “The whoreson that ploughed my mother and left was an elf.”  
Geralt didn’t say anything else, just leaned over and gently pressed his lips to the point of Vernon’s left ear. The tips of those ears immediately flushed red as did his cheeks.   
“They’re kinda cute.”  
“I’m not cute Wolf.”  
“Mmhm, but your ears turn red when you blush and that’s adorable.”  
Vernon rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring this up to the men okay? Only Ves knows.”  
Geralt touched a chaste kiss to Roche’s lips before offering a little smile. “My lips are sealed.”


End file.
